


fixing in the dark

by penrosequartz



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23537170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosequartz/pseuds/penrosequartz
Summary: Double checking the spaces between them over and over, headcounts and crossed wires, the feeling of something missing and remembering the truth.Yeah, the truth. A real punch in the gut. He still felt that fresh, raw pain, even now.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	fixing in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> TW: suicide, and also mention of murder. this is an AU without pennywise, but both stan and eddie still die. based off amanda palmer's song "[bottomfeeder](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M90Z8cSwJ3M&list=PLdCjn28n1Ao9MJy27t5ofcJ8J4oC7gCaT)", which is very good.

The taxi driver drove like a maniac, but Bill was still sure that the ride was longer than it should have been. When he finally exited, the sidewalk beneath him seemed to shift. He felt sick looking upwards at the buildings, stretching into the grey sky. It looked like it was going to rain.

It seemed impossible, that the city could continue to rumble on, never stopping, never sleeping, when the rest of them had frozen so completely. It was like Groundhog Day, you know? Waking up again and again, never getting out of the loop of the everyday, of the emptiness. Double checking the spaces between them over and over, headcounts and crossed wires, the feeling of something missing and remembering the truth. 

Yeah, the truth. A real punch in the gut. He still felt that fresh, raw pain, even now.

He managed to check into the hotel without collapsing, but he didn’t get much further. Sliding down the inside of the door of his room. Breathing, gasping. Curling into a ball with his crinkly hiking backpack beside him, stained with mud from the camping trips they’d taken together. Mostly together.

It had been a miracle, really, that Richie had stuck around at all. Bill had thought he’d move away, bury it all, try to forget. But he kept at it. Kept coming to school, facing them all without the person he’d really been there for. Not that he was the same, of course. Quieter, closed off, flinching. He never talked about it. 

Bowers got to Eddie in late Fall one year, a Saturday. Richie found him - the body, that is. Henry Bowers went to jail not long after that, tried as an adult, which was good on two counts. For a while, Bill wasn’t sure if Richie would have been able to stop himself if he’d seen Bowers again. 

Bill didn’t want his friend to be a killer.

They  _ were _ friends, weren’t they? They all stuck together, the memory of Eddie sticking them to each other as it simultaneously forced them apart. And then there was the band, a stupid drunken idea grown into a real, uh. Bonding experience.

Stan laughed about the band. That was why Bill kept them coming to the idiotic “sessions” in the basement, Georgie fetching snacks and drinks and grinning at the drum beat and Richie’s bad guitar. Bill liked it when his favourite people were smiling.

A buzzing from Bill’s pocket sent an earthquake down memory lane,  _ RT  _ at the top of the screen. 

“You would not fucking believe the flight I just had,” Richie said, by way of hello.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Bill let a small smile grow on his face. Yes, they were friends.

“You in the hotel yet? Oh, wow, this receptionist is really something. I’ll meet you downstairs, half an hour?”

“Yeah, okay,” Bill nodded, dragging himself up from the floor, “Just have to shower. Have you spoken to Ben?” 

“Nope, I’m sure they’ll be here in a bit.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Bill replied, but the line was already dead.

There was a bathtub. In the bathroom. It wasn’t- it shouldn’t have been so hard to look at. Nothing wrong with a bathtub being in a bathroom. Nothing- nothing strange about it.

Nothing strange about coming home from work, fumbling with the keys, yelling into the silent apartment. He could have been out. Maybe getting groceries. The note on the kitchen table would have alerted Bill, would have let him know something was wrong - would have told him, explicitly, what was going on. But he didn’t see it. Went straight to the fridge, grabbed an apple. Thought  _ I sure hope he’s getting groceries, this thing is basically empty. _

Went to the bedroom, pulled off his shirt. Looked in the mirror for a moment, judged himself a little. Glanced over at Stan’s side of the bed, a place where he’d spent so much time lately. Thought  _ I’m glad he’s getting out of the house. _

And finally, went into the bathroom, ready to shower.

Their little bathroom was pale, light blues and creams, small square tiles. Darker blue towels hanging on a rack in the corner. Small mirror, basin, tiny little cupboard for shaving cream and soap and toothpaste. 

The water was so red. It would have been beautiful, you know, the colours, if it wasn’t so horrific.

He’d seemed almost asleep. Bill felt so stupid, afterwards, that he didn’t call an ambulance immediately. Instead, he’d reached into the water, desperate, holding Stan close to his chest, crying. He’d come to his senses eventually, but there was nothing to be done.

Bill manages to take a shower and get downstairs without having too much of a breakdown. That’s something else binding he and Richie together - they’ve both found lovers dead.

High school had ended so abruptly. None of them really knew what to do with themselves. Mike stayed in Derry. Richie drifted a bit. Ben went to college, wanted to be an architect. Beverly went with him, studied design. And Bill and Stan got an apartment.

He’d known Stan… struggled, sometimes. He just hadn’t grasped the enormity of- of  _ emptiness _ that he’d been facing. The diary that explained it all sat at the back of his backpack, still up in his room, pages of black ink talking about his depression, and about other things, too. Little things; the band, Bill’s smile, the way Stan’s hair felt when he slept in for too long. Big things; the universe, religion, the future.

Bill had loved him so much. He still does. He can recreate the feeling when he stares out at the ocean, or up at the stars - this huge sense of awe. 

Richie claps him on the back,  _ hard.  _

“How are you, man?”

Bill grins weakly, “Ah, you know.”

Richie sags, just slightly. 

“Yeah,” He answers, “Me, too.”

They go get a drink at the bar in the hotel, and wait for the rest of them to show up. Richie angrily rants about his flight and his roommate and his life, and he really uses his hands when he talks, gesturing everywhere, almost knocking his drink over at least twice. Richie is so angry all the time. Was he always like that? Bill almost can’t remember.

He thinks this might be the last get-together they do, and he thinks they all know that, as well. Mike, Ben, and Beverly all show up, and they plan out their little trip, arguing and joking around, but it’s hollow. Bill goes back to his room feeling numb. He reads some pages of Stan’s diary, just his favourites, just the good ones. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he should read the bad ones, too.

Not tonight. He pulls out his phone as the rain finally starts outside, watches the video he took years ago when Ben was messing around with a fucking accordion and Richie was trying to make it work with his guitar. Stan’s laughing his ass off in the corner of the room, and he makes a face when he realises Bill is filming him. He pauses it right there, right at that moment, where Stan’s eyes are shining and he’s got a lopsided grin on his face. If he can go to sleep now, maybe he can enter that video. Maybe he can go back and do it all again. 

_ No nightmares tonight,  _ Bill thinks, heavy raindrops against the window of his hotel room,  _ Please, universe, just let me have this. _

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment or kudos if you liked it, or you want to sue me or something.


End file.
